Dreams and Realities
by possiblycrazee
Summary: AU. Set Post 'Grave Danger'. Warrick finds trouble in the form of a small girl who claims to be there to help him and Nick.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Dreams and Realities

**Author:** Hawkeye/Katy

**Fandom:** CSI

**Rating:** FRT

**Pairing:** None

**Disclaimer:** I own Brigit Nemain. I don't own CSI. Hear that? Me no own. You no sue.

The tiny girl tore down the gaudily lit Strip, followed closely by two men, both carrying handguns and firing wildly after her. Many people stopped and gawked, some even asking stupidly if they were filming a movie in Vegas. Tourists and locals alike dived out of the way when they realized that it was no movie, that those guns were real. Her heart sinking as she saw she no longer had anywhere to hide, the girl peeled off to the left and into one of Vegas' many casinos. Her two pursuers followed her, shoving people out of the way. But they shoved the wrong man. Warrick Brown staggered slightly, his jaw dropping and his green eyes widening as he was first shoved by a little girl, then again by… what the hell!

Warrick's CSI training took over as he was shoved by a guy, running, with a gun. Ignoring the blackjack dealer's startled cry as he shoved the table back, the African-American CSI was off and running. His long legs let him easily catch up with the first of the two gunmen. Throwing his shoulder into the man's back the two went down in a tumbling heap. Out of the corner of his eye, Warrick could see security hauling ass over to him. Putting his knee in the small of the man's back he disarmed him and hauled him to his feet, flashing his badge at the disgruntled looking security guard before taking off after the second guy.

Cursing foully as he got to the balcony over looking the slot machines on the floor below, Warrick scanned the area around him turning a complete circle before he admitted defeat, thumping his hands on the railing. 

"Damn it! Shit!" the normally reserved CSI swore.

A shot rang out to his left and Warrick's head snapped towards the sound with an almost painful speed. He heard a child scream, then saw the girl come tearing around the corner on the opposite side of the casino, heading towards the balcony, her eyes wide with terror, her breathing harsh with exertion. Warrick's own eyes widened as he saw the gunman follow her then stop, leveling the gun at the girl's retreating back when he realized she had nowhere to go. Warrick saw defeat register on the tiny girl's face. She glanced over the balcony to the slot machines 40 feet below. Grim determination flitted across her face as the gunman trained his gun on her. 9mm revolver, no casings the CSI in Warrick's head opined clinically. She placed her hands on the railings of the balcony.

"Oh, no, no, no. Sweetheart, don't do it," Warrick said in sick realization, tears he didn't even feel running down his face. 

Almost as if she'd heard him, the tiny girl turned her huge eyes onto Warrick's face, gave him a sweet, cherubic smile...

...and jumped off the balcony.

Warrick's eyes flew open, his scream muffled by the pillow corner stuffed in his mouth. He spat out the cottony fabric and gagged. Still sobbing he ran for the bathroom barely making it before sinking to his knees and throwing up everything he'd eaten that day. This dream was getting worse and worse every time. Every time he slept since they had pulled Nick out of that coffin, the little girl was there. Sometimes it would just be the two of them, sometimes Nick was with them, sometimes doing mundane things like eating ice-cream at his kitchen table. But most of the time, he watched her fall. In his dreams she never hit the ground, and she always gave him that smile. The one that said 'I'll be fine, it's ok', when Warrick knew exactly what would happen to her tiny body when it had plummeted the forty feet and impacted with the slot machines below. Warrick sighed shakily, swiped a hand across his eyes and stood up, glancing at his reflection in the mirror.

"You look like crap," he told himself, frowning critically at the bags under his once luminous, but now dull, green eyes.

Walking back through his kitchen in his pajama pants, resolutely refusing to look at the table, Warrick opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Taking a few swallows he screwed the lid back on and leaned his head against the cool metal of the fridge. Unable to get either the picture of Nick trapped in the plexi-glass coffin or the little girl falling over the balcony out of his mind, Warrick began to bang his head lightly against the fridge. A soft giggle made him spin around, his eyes wide. The water bottle fell from Warrick's limp fingers as he stared at his kitchen table in a mixture of shock, horror and morbid curiosity.

"Hi," said the little girl from Warrick's dreams, sitting at his kitchen table, one leg tucked underneath her, the other swinging gently, toes not touching the floor.

"Oh hell no..." Warrick said, his eyes like dinner plates.

"Hell's a bad word," the little girl told him cheerfully, her voice a lilting Irish brogue.

"Yeah..." Warrick agreed, not taking his eyes off the little girl sitting calmly at his kitchen table.

The two sat there for what seemed like forever, just looking at each other. Warrick wondering if he'd finally lost the plot. The little girl looking like she was doing nothing more interesting than watching the Saturday morning cartoons. Finally Warrick's curiosity got the better of him.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Brigit Nemain, what's yours?"

"Warrick Brown... I don't mean to seem rude... how the... how on earth did you get into my house?"

"Same way I got into your head. Like this..."

Warrick's jaw hit the ground and he let out a low moan as the tiny girl... Brigit... simply disappeared. He leapt about six feet in the air and yelped in shock as she reappeared on top of his refrigerator. 

"Shit!" Warrick swore as he landed, smacking his elbow on the benchtop. 

"Now that one... that's a really bad word, I can't even say that word," Brigit told him from her perch on top of his fridge.

She held out her hands and looked at Warrick with her huge dark eyes, her dark curls framing her face gently. Warrick moved over to the fridge and hesitantly lifted Brigit down. He set her gently on the floor and took two quick steps back, looking at her as if she were about to explode. Brigit looked back up at him. Warrick looked at the clock, three hours before shift. Oh no. Work. How was he going to explain how he suddenly acquired a little Irish girl? Was she even a girl? Was she even human? He stopped that train of thought before it got started. Shaking his head, Warrick tried to organize his thoughts. 

"So, Brigit, now I know how you got in my house, do you reckon you could tell me why you're in my house?"

"You needed my help."

"Wonderful. So I am going crazy. Well, at least I finally know for sure." 

"You're not crazy, Mr. Warrick, you just need my help."

"You keep saying that. Why do I need your help? What do I need your help with? What exactly are you? I'm sorry, Brigit, that last one wasn't nice."

"S'ok, Mr. Warrick, you're a new one, you'll get used to it."

Warrick stared. For a girl who looked no older than 7 or 8, she spoke like she was much, much older. Warrick pushed his mind away from that thought. He really would go mad if he kept going with that idea. Sighing, he supposed he would have to get used to having Brigit around, at least until he worked out what the hell was going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Dreams and Realities

**Author:** Hawkeye/Katy

**Fandom:** CSI

**Rating:** FRT

**Pairing:** None

**Disclaimer:** I own Brigit Nemain. I don't own CSI. Hear that? Me no own. You no sue.

Warrick looked at the clock again. Forty-five minutes until the shift started. Half an hour until he had to leave. He scratched his head and frowned. What in the hell was he supposed to do with Brigit? He couldn't leave her by herself. Warrick snorted, he probably could, the girl could probably take care of herself better than he could, but it just wouldn't feel right. He sighed and turned to where Brigit was once again on top of his fridge, dancing happily to music only she could hear. He raised an eyebrow and laughed. Brigit ended her dance with a twirl and a curtsey and gave him a funny look.

"What's so funny, Mr. Warrick?" she asked, sitting down on the fridge and swinging her legs, her heels beating a soft tattoo against the door.

"Nothing. It's just… I was laughing at how weird it was that you haven't even been here three hours yet and I'm already used to finding you dancing on top of my refrigerator. And, you know, you don't have to call me 'Mr. Warrick', just 'Warrick' is fine," the CSI answered, holding his hands out to lift the little Irish girl down.

Brigit dipped him another curtsey, flashed him a cheeky grin and jumped into his arms. Warrick set her gently on the floor and sighed. He still had no idea what he was supposed to do with her while he was at work. Goddamn, he still had no idea what she was or what she was supposed to be helping him with. He thought about asking her, the tiny Irish girl seemed to have an intelligent answer for just about everything, regardless of how young she actually appeared, but that would be like admitting she wasn't actually a girl, but something else entirely. And Warrick wasn't sure he was quite ready to do that yet. Yet? Did he just add yet to the end of that sentence? Oh damn. What the hell was he getting himself into? He sighed again. Well, he had no idea what to do with Brigit while he worked, so he may as well swallow his pride and ask.

"Brigit?" he began, "I have to go to work in about twenty minutes…"

"I know," Brigit interrupted, "That's where you need my help."

"Hey!" Warrick said, looking affronted, "I'm damn good at my job!"

"Damn is a bad word," Brigit informed him, "And that's not what I meant."

Warrick stared at the little Irish girl as she calmly walked past him and helped herself to some orange juice. Brigit did her little disappearing act and reappeared, complete with orange juice, back on top of Warrick's fridge. She sipped her orange juice daintily, setting it down next to her.

"You don't need help doing your job, you are good at it, you help lots of people find their way. But you've been helping people find their way for so long that you haven't noticed yourself becoming just as lost as they were."

Warrick blinked. He opened his mouth to deny what she'd said, but found he couldn't. Purely and simply because what Brigit had said made sense. He'd been a CSI for a long time now, he was a Level 3. Grissom always said it was impossible for even the best CSI's to solve every case that came through their door. That's why he had that ugly fish pinboard. And Grams had always said he was a gentle soul, and that's what made him good at what he did. But lately it had been getting harder and harder to turn away from the ones they couldn't solve. It felt like he was turning his back on the victims. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair; this was giving him a headache.

"So… You're coming to work with me then?" he asked uncertainly.

"Mm-hmm," the little girl said nodding, before doing what Warrick had now dubbed 'her disappearing act' onto the floor and putting her glass into the sink.

"How do I explain how I got a little Irish girl in the space of 12 hours?" Warrick moaned, banging his head lightly on the doorframe.

Brigit grinned cheekily at him, giggling as the tall African-American continued to get more and more frazzled with each passing minute. She waited until he turned to tell her to stop laughing at him, before pointing to his cell phone which he'd left sitting on the kitchen bench next to his keys.

"Ring, ring," she said, snickering and grinning, a bright twinkle in her eye.

Warrick looked at Brigit suspiciously, opening his mouth to ask her what she meant. Behind him, his cell phone rang shrilly, causing him to almost leap out of his skin. He swung round to stare at it, then back at Brigit, then back at his cell phone, looking at the offending piece of technology as if it were going to eat his fingers. He answered it, his eyes getting wider and wider throughout the call as he continued to stare at Brigit.

"You did that!" he accused her, before looking confused, "How did you do that?"

"Do what, Warrick?" she replied, looking totally innocent, except for the devious twinkle in her eyes.

Warrick shook his head in amazement. The phone call had been Grissom, telling him that he, Grissom, was going to a conference for 4 days and that Warrick was in charge and on desk duty. He narrowed his eyes at the little girl who was smiling angelically at him. How did she…? Never mind. He glanced at the clock. Time to go.

They made an odd pair as they walked into the Las Vegas crime lab, Warrick was perfectly aware of that. He was also perfectly aware of odd looks, double takes and outright stares they were getting as he logged in, holding Brigit's hand. He glanced down at her, Brigit seemed oblivious to the looks they were getting, so Warrick sighed inaudibly and ignored them.

The two made their way to Grissom's office, now Warrick's office for the next four days. Brigit looked at the bugs and other creepy crawlies plastered all over the office in fascination.

"Don't touch any of those, Grissom will kill me," Warrick told her, glancing through the assignment slips and various notes Grissom had left behind.

Scooping up the assignment slips, Warrick held out a hand to Brigit waiting until the little girl took it, before heading towards the breakroom. He felt a tug on his hand as he passed the vending machines. He glanced down, and wished he hadn't. Staring back up at him was what Warrick immediately dubbed 'the Puppy Eyes of Doom'.

"Please, Warrick?"

"I made you waffles, eggs and bacon not half an hour ago."

"But there's Hershey's. Please?"

"I don't care if there's gold bars. I'm not having you on a sugar high in the middle of the crime lab."

Nick Stokes walked around the corner and stopped short, his jaw dropping. Standing in front of the candy bar machine was Warrick Brown, all 6'2 of him, arguing with a little girl who barely came up to his belt loops about buying a Hershey's bar, Irish by the sounds of her, and losing horribly. As far as Nick was concerned, there was only one thing to say in situations like this.

"What in the hell!"

Warrick grimaced as he heard the deep, Texan drawl behind him. He then broke into barely suppressed laughter as his little Brigit calmly informed the spluttering Texan that hell was indeed a bad word, before carrying on pleading for a candy bar. He looked down at her, giving her a smile.

"Because you asked so nicely and you managed to confuse the he… heck out of my friend Nick here, you can have a small Hershey's. Not the big one, you'll make yourself sick."

He pulled the money out of his pocket, handed it to Brigit and lifted her up so she could put it in the machine and pick her candy bar. He studiously ignored the still-sputtering Texan as Brigit pushed the buttons then squirmed to beat her candy bar to the ground. He watched as Brigit scooped the candy bar and Warrick's change out of the machine then turned the 'Puppy Eyes of Doom' on him once more and gestured to the soda machine.

"No."

"But, I'll get thirsty."

"I'm gonna be broke by the end of the shift, aren't I?" Warrick said to her as he handed her some more change and picked her up so she could get a soda to go with her candy bar.

Grinning up at the African-American CSI, clutching her soda in one hand and her Hershey bar in the other Brigit skipped ahead of Warrick. She gave Nick a cheerful wave, then stopped, turned and skipped back to Warrick, unsure of where she was supposed to go. Warrick steered her into the breakroom and popped the top on her soda. Nick followed, completely stunned and utterly confused. The little Irish girl and the tall African-American CSI both broke into wide grins at the bewildered look on the handsome Texan's face. They glanced at each other, gave Nick dubiously innocent looks and Brigit spoke.

"Hi, I'm Brigit Nemain, what's your name?"

"Nick Stokes…" the Texan replied uncertainly, glaring at Warrick as the other man tried not to laugh, "Warrick…?"

"I don't know either, man. Kinda cute, though, isn't she?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Dreams and Realities

**Author:** Hawkeye/Katy

**Fandom:** CSI

**Rating:** FRT

**Pairing:** None

**Disclaimer:** I own Brigit Nemain. I don't own CSI. Hear that? Me no own. You no sue.

Sitting in the chair in the breakroom, her feet not quite touching the floor, Brigit munched happily on her candy bar, offering both Nick and Warrick a piece and looking quite pleased when they refused. Catherine sauntered into the breakroom, followed almost immediately by Greg. Her eyebrows shot into her hairline as she saw the little girl sitting in her normal chair. Greg blinked, opened his mouth to say something, realized he had no idea what to say and closed it again. Warrick glanced up, saw the two CSI's in the doorway, grinned and gave them a wave. Noticing his co-worker's actions, Nick looked up too, catching sight of the two in the doorway.

"Hey Cath, hey Greggo," he said, before turning to Brigit, "How about you come sit with me, Brigit, that's Catherine's chair."

The girl referred to as Brigit turned to Warrick, seemingly asking permission. The African-American CSI nodded and held out his hand for her empty soda can and candy wrapper, lobbing them into the bin. He smiled at her as she still sat in her chair, swinging her legs impatiently.

"Go on, then. You can sit with Nick if you like, I've gotta look through these reports and stuff anyway," Warrick said, reaching out a hand and tickling her ribs lightly, chuckling as she squealed and squirmed away.

Greg and Catherine's jaws dropped as the little girl happily clambered into Nick's lap, settling herself against his chest. Nick smiled down at her, his eyes softening, until he realized Warrick was smirking at him. He gave his friend and fellow CSI an embarrassed smile and told him to shut up. Still staring at Warrick, and Nick and the little girl, Catherine and Greg moved into the breakroom and sat down. She grinned at the two stunned CSI's and wiggled her fingers in a childish wave.

"I'm Brigit Nemain, what's your name?"

Greg and Catherine blinked at Brigit's lilting Irish tones, looked at each other, then at Nick, who was smiling down at the little Irish girl, then at Warrick, who was reading the assignment slips (careful not to let Brigit see the particulars of each case, he didn't know what she was or how old she really was, but while she was with him, she didn't need to be knowing about things like dead bodies and rapes and home invasions), before answering.

"I'm Greg Sanders; it's nice to meet you, Brigit," the spiky-haired former lab tech answered, smiling gently at her, holding out his hand for her to shake, which she did with a giggle.

"And I'm Catherine Willows. Brigit, that's a very pretty name. It's the name of an Irish goddess…"

As Catherine and Greg were introducing themselves to Brigit, who had made herself a seat on Nick's lap, the Texan shifting automatically to make her as comfortable as possible, Sara walked past the breakroom in a foul mood. Everyone in the breakroom watched her walked past, heading towards Grissom's office, with raised eyebrows, except Brigit, who was humming a little ditty to herself.

"What's up her ass?" Catherine wondered out loud.

"Ass is a bad word," Brigit told her, her voice muffled from where her head was buried into Nick's shoulder.

Warrick and Nick both laughed at the familiar statement. Catherine looked suitably abashed at being told off by a little girl, and Greg snickered. Settling his chin on the top of Brigit's head as though he'd known her all her life, instead of just a few minutes, Nick looked over at Warrick.

"Grissom not here?"

"Nah, he's at a conference for the next four days," Warrick said, raising his eyebrow at the giggling Brigit.

"You in charge, then?"

"Unfortunately. But, it means I won't have to get one of the techs to mind Brigit while I'm at a scene."

Sara chose this moment to stalk into the breakroom. Not even bothering to say hello to her fellow CSI's, she stormed over to the coffee machine, pouring herself a cup. She turned around and went to sit at the table, catching sight of Warrick about to hand out the assignment slips, normally Grissom's task.

"Where's Grissom?" she snapped.

"At a conference," Warrick answered patiently.

"Which one? Why wasn't I told?"

"I don't know which one, I didn't ask. I don't know why you weren't told, why don't you ask Grissom when he comes back?" Warrick said, his irritation starting to show.

"So who's in charge, then?" Sara asked, knowing the answer already.

"Me."

"But Nick has seniority…"

"I know. But for some obscure Grissom-esque reason, Grissom asked me," Warrick replied, trying not snap, his Grams had taught him to always be polite to women.

"That's bullsh…"

"Sara, that's enough," Warrick said, holding out her assignment slip, his normally easy-going voice tight with anger, "One. Grissom isn't here and won't be for the next four days, I am in charge. Two. Do not use language like that in front of any child, but in particular, not a child in my care. And three. You have a solo case, an armed robbery with a DB in Loughlin."

Sara snatched the assignment slip out of Warrick's outstretched hand, glancing over at what she decided was the source of her problems. Brigit. She sent an icy glare towards the little girl, that made Nick's eyes widen and his arms tighten around the little girl on his lap with its intensity and made Brigit's head rear back, before the little Irish girl narrowed her eyes, disentangling her hands from where she'd been giving Nick a hug and turning to face the brunette valley girl.

"No, Brigit," Warrick said warningly, ignoring Sara for the moment.

"No, what?" Brigit replied, still glaring at Sara.

"Whatever it is you're going to do, don't do it."

"Why?"

"Because," Warrick said, leaning in to whisper in Brigit's ear so only she and Nick could hear him, "making my phone ring, appearing in my dreams and dancing on my refrigerator are all fine and dandy when your in my house, but I don't think they're going to go down that well here in the lab."

The African-American CSI sat back, giving the little girl he'd come to refer to as his a significant look, while the Texan CSI whose lap she was sitting on looked at Warrick like he was from another planet.

Brigit frowned, "You think they'd mind?"

Warrick raised an eyebrow, "More than somewhat."

Brigit sighed and resolutely turned her back on Sara, effectively ending the conversation. Sara stared from the tiny girl, to Warrick, to Nick, to Cath, to Greg and then back to Warrick, before snatching up her kit and walking out of the breakroom, trying to hold onto what little dignity she had left. Watching her go, the team shook their heads before turning back to receive their respective assignment slips. Warrick winced, looking to Cath, the team's unofficial mother, for help.

"She asked for that, Rick, you didn't do anything wrong."

Warrick sighed, scratching his head and getting his thoughts in order. Brigit slid off Nick's lap, walking around to stand by Warrick, tugging gently on his shirtsleeve. Without thinking about, he picked her up and set her on his hip, causing everyone in the room to smirk. He gave them all an embarrassed smile.

"Oh shut up. Cath, your going solo. North Las Vegas. Brass will meet you outside," Warrick didn't go into any more detail, glancing quickly down at Brigit while handing over the assignment slip, "And Nicky and Greggo, you guys are at the Tangiers. You'll have to wait for Archie, he'll be tagging along to get the video footage to bring back to the lab so you can keep processing."

Cath grinned and took off, waving goodbye to Brigit, who waved cheerfully back from her position on Warrick's hip. Nick sat back down at the table. Warrick followed, shifting Brigit so she was curled up on his lap. Greg made coffee for all three CSI's before ducking out of the breakroom and returning with another soda for the tiny Irish girl, whose eyes lit up and whose face split into a wide grin. Warrick and Nick both gave him a look, and it was Greg's turn to flash an embarrassed smile at his teammates. It wasn't long before Greg started fidgeting and it took him less than 5 minutes to ask the inevitable question.

"Warrick I think I speak for everyone here when I say, why the fu… dgepickle do you have a little Irish girl?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Dreams and Realities

**Author:** Hawkeye/Katy

**Fandom:** CSI

**Rating:** FRT

**Pairing:** None

**Disclaimer:** I own Brigit Nemain. I don't own CSI. Hear that? Me no own. You no sue.

"_Warrick, I think I speak for everyone here when I say, why the fu… dgepickle do you have a little Irish girl?"_

Nick Stokes glanced at Greg as he asked the question the Texan desperately wanted to know the answer to. Nick's train of thought led him to the whispered conversation between Warrick and Brigit. _'Because making my phone ring, appearing in my dreams and dancing on my refrigerator are all fine and dandy when you're in my house, but I don't think they're going to go down that well here in the lab.'_ What the hell was that all about? Nick turned back to Warrick, who sat at the table with Brigit on his lap, a confused look on his face as he tried to think of the best way to answer that question. The truth was just too damn freaky for words. But his decision was taken away from him by the little girl in his lap who snuggled further into his chest and whispered into his ear.

"If you don't tell them, I'll start dancing… and there isn't a fridge here… so I guess I'll just have to dance in the air. They need to know, not everything perhaps. But they need to know something and you can't lie to them… they're your friends… they deserve that much from you."

Once again Warrick was struck by the duality of the little girl that had suddenly appeared in his life. One minute she was giggling and laughing as he tickled her ribs or pouting in order to get candy, the epitome of a small child. The next she was saying stuff like that, things that little girls shouldn't even know the meaning of, let alone the context of. But having her dancing in the air wasn't an option; that would be even harder to explain than how she got there in the first place.

Warrick sighed, "I don't know what to tell you."

Nick looked at him, one eyebrow raised, "The truth would be nice."

Warrick gave the Texan a humorless smile, "The truth makes me sound nuttier than a fruitcake…" he warned.

"Nothing new there," Greg jumped in with a huge grin.

Warrick shot Greg a mock glare, adjusted Brigit on his knee, making sure the girl was comfortable and resting his cheek on the top of her head and began to speak. He told the two CSI's, the quirky former lab tech and the logical, down-to-earth Texan, exactly what had happened, only leaving out that Nick had sometimes appeared in his dreams too. He kept his eyes on the table, on Brigit, on the wall, everywhere except the two men who sat opposite him, their eyes wide.

When he had finished, he kept his head bowed, his cheek resting on Brigit's dark curls and waited. Waited for the inevitable laughter, ridicule and offers to drive him to the psychiatrist. When none of the above came, he slowly looked up, green eyes hesitant, despite the comforting presence of the little girl sitting on his knee. Nick and Greg stared at him, unblinking. The two men didn't know what to think. Warrick was not a liar, he wasn't a conspiracy theorist, he didn't spout supernatural theories for all the weird stuff that happened in Vegas. All in all, the two men realized, coming to an unspoken agreement, Warrick had no reason to be lying to them. And if he wasn't lying to them…

David Hodges stood in the Trace lab, yawning widely and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying in vain to stay awake. Pulling doubles was not fun. God, he needed coffee. Breakroom. Breakroom had coffee. Sanders was here. He made good coffee. David snorted to himself, he couldn't even think coherently. He glanced over at the mass spec; it could run itself for a few minutes. He pressed a few buttons, hauled himself off his stool and slouched dejectedly down to the breakroom in search of coffee.

Tired and pale, David Hodges stopped in the hallway as Archie Johnson, AV tech extraordinaire, called out to him. The slender, Asian tech looked at the trace tech's tired eyes and slumped walk, started to ask if he was ok, then decided he didn't want to face the dreaded Hodges snark and stayed quiet. For which David was thankful, he wasn't sure he even had the snark to torment Archie without coffee, and the man was a Trekkie for crying out loud. That alone should show the world how tired David Hodges was.

The two techs walked into the breakroom, David ignoring everything except the coffee machine in the corner, Archie moving forward to greet the three CSI's. Archie stopped when he saw the little girl sitting on Warrick's lap as the African-American CSI filled in some of the paperwork dayshift had left behind. The AV tech blinked, frowning and glancing at Greg and Nick, who both shrugged. The little dark-haired girl sitting on Warrick's lap turned to face Archie and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Brigit Nemain, what's your name?"

Archie's answer was lost in the resounding smash that came from the direction of the coffee machine. Everyone in the room turned around. David Hodges was standing in a pool of coffee, broken pieces of the trace tech's coffee mug littering the floor by his feet, his blue eyes wide and his mouth open in surprise as he stared at Brigit. The three CSI's and the AV tech stared at the normally calm, yet sarcastic, trace analyst. David blinked. Surely not? That was impossible, it was inconceivable.

"Brigit?" the trace tech asked, hating the uncertainty in his voice.

Brigit grinned back at him, flipping her dark curls out of her face. My God, she hadn't changed at all. David still stood in the pool of rapidly cooling coffee and broken glass. Ignoring the stares of his co-workers, David Hodges moved out of the puddle of coffee and walked slowly around the table, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired Irish girl. Warrick raised his head to look at the stunned lab tech, his arms inadvertently tightening around Brigit as he turned his body to shield her. Brigit smiled, her grin growing ever-bigger, at both Warrick and David, before squirming off Warrick's lap and walking around the table to meet David halfway.

A true smile, one very rarely seen on the bitter, sarcastic lab rat, appeared slowly on David's face, like the sun creeping over a hill. Brigit grinned and held up her arms to the trace tech. The snarky lab tech shook his head, held out his hands and gave a startled laugh when Brigit ran and jumped into his arms. Every jaw in the room dropped. But David Hodges ignored them all, hugging the little Irish girl tightly and setting her on his hip, much like Warrick had done not half an hour before.

"Shut up," he told the grinning CSI's and AV tech, "This does not leave the lab. Or else _you_ do not leave the lab. Understood?"

"I helped David too," Brigit piped up suddenly, her eyes twinkling, "He needed my help with a person he worked with too, just like you do, Warrick."

Both David and Warrick winced, the African-American CSI burying his face in his hands and the lab rat blushing furiously, unable to hide his face while holding Brigit. Then the other half of the little girl's statement registered with both men. Their heads whipped up to stare at each other.

"She helped you before?"

"She's helping you now?"

David grinned at the African-American CSI, shifting the little girl to his other hip, freeing his left hand and picking up the coffee Archie had placed on the table for him. He nodded his thanks when he saw that his Trekkie friend had cleaned up the spilled coffee and broken mug from before. The trace tech sipped his coffee, before turning back to Warrick, shaking his head and smirking at the taller man.

"God help you, man, you're gonna have migraines before the end of this…"


End file.
